


My Atoms Came from the Stars

by Adanska



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: More than Meets the Eye
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Humanformers, Jossed, Ladyformers, Spoilers, pretentious title is pretentious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adanska/pseuds/Adanska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She used to be a drug addict; her hair used to be black, her colours grey and muted, and she used to favour guns. You could say she used to favour battle, but let's face it, the only thing that's never changed is her lust for blood; she just carves it out for the side of the angels, now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Atoms Came from the Stars

She used to be a drug addict; her hair used to be black, her colours grey and muted, and she used to favour guns. You could say she used to favour battle, but let’s face it, the only thing that’s never changed is her lust for blood; she just carves it out for the side of the angels, now.[[MORE]]

  
  
 _“Why were you a Decepticon,” Rodimus asks her one night, red hair spilling over golden skin, a perfect loop circling a perfect nipple._

_Drift shrugged, fingered invisible scars on the inside of her arms. “Wasn’t exactly part of the elite, Roddy,” she drawled, all teeth and lips, nuzzling her scarred stomach. “It was a justified revolution, once.”_

_“Really?” she asked her, arrogantly sceptical, as though she hadn’t been tempted, once upon a time. “What happened to change your mind?”_

_“‘All animals are created equal,’” she quoted, wry and bitter. “‘But some animals are created more equal than others.’”_

  
  
She delighted in killing the Autobots because in every one she saw every sneering bastard who’d driven her to the gutter and had left her there, she saw the bastards that beat the piss out of her unarmed uncles and aunts during demos, saw the inequality and injustice in physical form to be killed and killed again. She liked guns because she was a natural shot, because she could kill them before they ever got near her, small and lithe as she was. She left the Decepticons because they threw her out, but in truth they weren’t anything she wanted to do with anymore anyway.

The official story is a church took her in, saved her for certain death as she tried to hijack a ship to get offworld, taught her about the meaning of the universe and purged the evils from her until her hair turned white and pure. The official story is a nice story, full of a Higher Power and Good People and the idea that evil can be purged; it’s a nice story, one that she uses to her advantage, but in the end it’s just that: a story.

In reality, there was noone else on that planet to save her from her bad ideas, just her and a slave ship and a quantum engine on the fritz. She got the great sword from a dead prisoner alone in his cell, stole the two smaller ones from a couple she bashed to death in their little cages. She was left alone on that ship for fifty years with only the slaves for company, stuck in a temporal bubble without the rest of the ship and no idea when it would end. By the time they popped back into time-space, she’d acted like a saviour to the poor creatures in the hull with her, slaughtered their captors and flew them to a neutral space controlled by idealists and dreamers, her hair white and the wonder of the universe shining maniacally from beneath blood-speckled eyes.

She likes the official story better, truth told; she’s a better person in it.

  
  
 _“Ratchet,” she rasped, choking on her own spit and blood, her fingers spasming weakly on his lab coat as she pulled him closer. “Ratchet, if this is the work of the DJD, I need to to promise me, promise me you’ll kill me ‘fore they do.”_

_“I thought you said you weren’t scared of them,” he said gruffly, a gentle hand leaving purple bruises along her neck as he took her pulse, everything tearing beneath the surface ‘Stupid Pipes.’ _“And you aren’t going to die, not by my hands at least.”__

_She started rolling off the bed before he even left the room; she’d promised Rodimus that she wasn’t going to let her CMO die, and she damn _well wasn’t going to let the only bastard to see greatness in her get his innards spilled out in some fucking backwater hospital. When she cut off Pharma’s hands, sending her plummeting to the snowy ground below, she considered the sounds of her bones snapping applause for a job well done and slipped away knowing the better person survived.__

_(The fact that Rodimus was so angry at her for that was something she couldn’t really understand, other than she took the choice out of her hands; the fact that Rodimus didn’t leave her side for the hours she spent in the Regen’ Chambers or the days she spent in bed despite that was something so far beyond understanding that she didn’t even bother to try.)_

  
  
She’d like to think she’s a little bit like that person from the stories, a person who feels just and right and fights on the side of the angels, tries her best to live up to the lie because if people tell it, it must be good. So she tries, and she helps Rodimus out because on a planet filled with angry civilians and former allies an exploration to the deepest pits of space sounds really appealing (and Rodimus is cute, if a little cruel, even if she finds that second part out too late, already on their ship in the blackest black with no real idea where they were heading and no way to contact home); she agrees to help Prowl, because she understands the logic in his plan, and if everyone keeps their heads about them, she knows they can do this _easily_.

  
  
 _“It sounds as though I’m defending her,” Rodimus says, “I’m **not** ,” and she feels the weight of her anger, of her failure, of five dead Autobots and a shattered Chromedome but she keeps her chin up and her eyes straight even though her whole body wants to shake, has to fight it when Rodimus burns her badge from her shoulder, her palms bleeding red so she doesn’t reach for her swords and just kill her way out, walks out like the warrior she is and takes their rioting rage; when Ratchet helps her up, her scalp oozing steadily down her face and her neck, she hopes he mistakes the blood staining his gloves for wounds sustained from the broken ground, hopes he mistakes the furious tears welling up for the pain and remorse she can only distantly feel. He helps her up and she’s gone, alone in the smallest of their subships, her blood slicking the controls and her skin pimpling in the cold, her jacket left alone in Rodimus’ bed where she’d left it, a Rodimus star handing crunched from her neck._

  
  
  
  
  
“Transmission incoming!”

Intrigued, Rodimus took it. “This is Autobot Rodimus Prime aboard the _Lost Light_ ,” she announced as the transmission connected, hips cocked and arms crossed at the helm. The visuals jumped, static eating away at fallow ground and tornado-green skies; it settled, abruptly, the focus coming in so clean Rodimus recoiled from the blow.

“I want you to see, Autobot Rodimus Prime, aboard the _Lost Light_ ,” intoned a voice, deep and honey sweet, “what comes of traitors to our cause. We know that Deadlock isn’t the only one hiding in your crew; watch, Traitors, and see what fate befalls you.”

Centre screen, Drift struggled against the beefy hands holding her fast, her face a mass of blood, swelling, and bruises, broken teeth snapping together as she snarled, a beast in panic, her warped and crumpled Rodimus Star embedded deep above her breastbone, a wink of gold under slicked red. The hands clenched, sending electricity arcing down one arm and fire crackling down the other.

She _howled_ , and Rodimus wanted to hurl. “Where are they?!” she screamed, eyes locked on Drift, unable to look away as she howled again, skin blistered and blackened from the two holding her still. “ _Where are they?!_ ”

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s far too late for that,” Tarn purred, finally entering the frame; Rodimus burned his visage into her brain. “Now, normally I’d just stop her spark in her chest, just match my voice to it’s thready thrum until it winks out, but--” He took a step forward; Drift snapped, her teeth closing microns from flesh, her eyes mad. When the electricity hit her, she merely grunted, crazed eyes roving and rolling, keeping Tarn in her sights. “I cannot seem to get a read on our good Deadlock here. Ah, well.” He paced back out, and Rodimus was shrieking for someone to figure out _where the fuck they were_ , for someone to _get them there_ NOW, Drift struggling and snarling on the screen, her broken legs scrabbling uselessly in the dirt as Tarn came back again, a war-axe in hand, and Rodimus was _screaming_ , and he raised it high, light flaring across the lens, and Drift looked Rodimus dead in the eyes, her lips quirking shakily, terror love and madness in her blue blue eyes as she whispered, _til all are one_ so wry and Tarn _swung_ , and Rodimus was left on her knees, staring as the light went out and the blood turned the yellow dirt orange, her colours a burial shroud, and she threw up on her goddamn bridge, choking on her words, her chest caved in and hollow.

  
  
  
  
  
She wasn't surprised, when she saw their ship enter the atmosphere, awful and huge on the horizon; alone, it was only a matter of time until they found her.

She'd landed because she'd needed sky, needed a bit of nature to quiet the screaming in her head, so raw from nightmares and guilt and loneliness. It might've been stupid, going planetside, but as she readied her swords, she really couldn't chastise herself for it. There was dirt beneath her feet and sky above her head, and she was going to her death.

She'd like to say she didn't go down easy, that it took several days of battle before they wore her down, a hero to the gallows, but she can't really lie to herself, now. The battle was lost from the moment they blipped on her radar; she made them work for every inch, but she was scared, and fear is a powerful handicap. They wore her down, wore her out, until she was kneeling bloody in the grit, Kaon and Helex gripping her shoulders tight and Tarn talking, always _talking_. They wore her down to the very base, feral and desperate and _mean_ , tearing out a chunk off Tarn's cheek the first time he got too close, his flesh mealy and plastic between her teeth; he'd backhanded her for it, breaking a tooth or two as Kaon sent electricity arcing into her, but she didn't care, just snarled in their faces.

In the end, she watched him pick up a war axe, watched the weak light gleam from it's blade, and she stared at Rodimus, _beautiful, arrogant girl_ , smiled at her _for her_ , whispered to her 'til all are one' and what did it matter if she were mocking or meant it sincerely, the axe was swinging, swinging, swinging, and she heard Rodimus' scream and she wasn't ready _she wasn't ready_ \--

...

...

...

She came

...

...

She came back ononononon

...

...

She She Sh-h-h-eeeee

...

She came back came ba-a-a-a-a-

...

...

She came back online

...

...

She came back on

...

She came back online breathing dirt. There was a sun beating down on her, and she tasted dirt and static and blood.

She moved her head, only a twitch, and pain roared through

...

...

She came back online breathing dirt. Everything was black, everything hurt.

Something was nibbling at her fingers; they twitched, and something yelped. She couldn't see it, her vision flashing silver in the black. Slowly, painfully, she dragged her hand to her head, buzzing fingers prodding lightly at the wound. It felt big. The ground was damp beneath her head; her fingers were slick.

The sun rose when she wasn't looking, rising wobbly up into the sky. She got up, followed it, as wobbly and unsteady as the star. The air around her was dry, and warm, enveloping her and _squeezing_. She fell, again and again, the ground turning her steadily yellow, and red, and orange, and _black_. She had two swords gripped loose in her hands, a third strapped crooked on her back. She didn't know where they came from. She dropped them; hours later they were in her hands again.

She kept walking.

She found a little ship some time away, little and tiny and made her heart feel caved in. When she touched her caved in chest, she felt char and flesh and metal that snagged and bit. Fresh blood welled up; she didn't know why she was bleeding. There was a ship, tiny and wonderful. She entered in a code on route, her fingers dancing over the keys like magic.

The buttons she hit told her the ship had fuel; the buttons she hit took the ship up and away, took her up into the black and the whirling stars, and she smiled slack-jawed in wonder, her pain forgotten at the sight of the galaxy around her. She thought that this might've been something she no longer wondered at, half-seen flashes of nebulae and whirling galaxies flickering in her mind, but she was determined to enjoy what she could.

She was alive. She wasn't going to waste it.


End file.
